


If Ever a Wiz There Was

by CantSpeakFae



Series: Once More With Glitter [14]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Buffy is exasperated, But no one tell Jareth that, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Giles isn't a Wizard, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: If Jareth was a fairy, like in Tinkerbell, it'd be enough to believe in him to save his life. Unfortunately, it's not that simple and Giles is at a loss.





	If Ever a Wiz There Was

Jareth slips out after her, squinting against the bright light of early morning Sunnydale. It's already unreasonably warm out and Jareth grimaces as he hurries to catch up with Buffy, who's already stormed far ahead.   
  
His legs are longer than hers. He catches up in seconds.   
  
“...I'm sorry.”   
  
He says when he does. He can almost see his mother's scowling face in the back of his mind, scolding him for his lack of manners.   
  
“My behaviour has been boorish and as you're only trying to help... well, I apologize.”

Buffy comes to a halt, clearly caught off guard by his apology. Whatever she’d been expecting to come from his mouth once he caught up to her, that wasn’t it, but it genuinely warms her and she offers him a tentative, if somewhat wary, smile.

“Why don’t we just start over?” She asks, internally admitting that she hadn’t been her patented Buffy Best this morning, either. “I’m Buffy of Earth. I rescue owls and eat Poptarts. Do you want one?”

She holds out the silver foil package to him, a silent offering.

Jareth stares at the oddly shaped and frosted confection and - assuming it would undermine his apology if he didn't - takes the offered treat and nibbles on the corner of it. 

Huh. Not bad.  
  
“I'm Jareth.” He says, once his mouth is free of poptart. “I'm the High Prince of the Underground, newly appointed Goblin King, and a snappy dresser to boot. Nice to meet you, Buffy of Earth.”

“Nice to meet you, Jareth.” Buffy responds, but the false warmth of their do-over meeting melts away as quickly as the shadows in Sunnydale as the sun lazily rises over them. “So… do you often crash into earth in a feathery form?”

All business. All the time. Giles would be proud.

“I…”

The contrite expression on Jareth's face melts away. And, for a second... he looks a little lost. Uncertain of himself. But it's gone in the next instant, replaced by a cool sense of self, and he shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“No. It's just a misunderstanding. I don't usually come to the Above, at all. Too much iron for my tastes.”

“Iron?” Buffy repeats. “What does that do? Make it rain on your wedding day or give you a free ride when you already paid?”

The joke flies right over Jareth’s head.

“Burns, mostly. But prolonged exposure can lead to poisoning, I hear.”

He's never met anyone with iron poisoning, but that means very little. Madness is a symptom of the disease and those who contract it are (rumoured) to be locked away afterward. Hidden like a secret.

The humour vanishes from Buffy’s expression, unease twisting her lips into a frown.

“Uh…” She says, looking around nervously. How much stuff was iron in? Buildings and maybe cars? “Are you going to be okay? How long until poisoning?”

“I'll be fine.”

Jareth says, though his voice isn't as self-assured as his posture and his fingers twitch, nervously, at his side. Of course he'll be okay... his father wouldn't send him anywhere he could get seriously hurt, right? Not without proper provisions to avoid that...  
  
“I just need to get home as soon as possible. Just in case.”

“Why can’t you get yourself home? You know, go back the way you came? Do you need a map or instructions how?”

"It's not that I don't know how to get back! I know how it works... in theory. I'm just…”

 Jareth's cheeks flush silver and he keeps his gaze focused straight ahead.  
  
“...not old enough to travel by myself, without help.”

“Jareth!”

Buffy’s voice rings with shock and she comes to a halt, staring at him with wide eyes and a nearly trembling lower lip.

“Your face! Oh, do you have that iron poisoning thing happening? Your face is all weird.”

“What? No.”

He lifts his hand to his face, rubbing at his skin as though anticipating that he can feel whatever she thinks is wrong with it, but nothing seems amiss to him.

“Why? What do you mean it’s all weird?”

“You’ve gone like silver!”

Buffy reaches her hand out to brush her fingertips over his cheek and frowns as the metallic colour doesn’t wipe away. She digs her hand into her bag and pulls out a compact. She opens it and hands him the mirror.

“Here, see?”

“Oh, I look like hells!” Jareth instinctively reaches to fix his hair… but then stops, realizing what she means by “silver”. “Oh. Right. Humans bleed red. I’d nearly forgotten.”

“What do you mean? Of course, we bleed red!”

Buffy’s too confused to even be amused at Jareth’s vainglorious hair tweekage.

“Yes, well, I don’t. My blood is silver.” Jareth says, folding his arms over his chest and feeling a bit put-on-the-spot.

Buffy scrutinizes his flushed face even harder. “No way! Why is that, I wonder?”

“If I ever find out, I’ll let you know.”

Jareth huffs, some of his previous impatience leaking back into his tone… but, in his defense, this is the longest walk ever and the air is rapidly rising in temperature.

“Okay, fine then. Please do.”

Miffed, Buffy tosses her hair over her shoulder as she turns and starts down the last block reaching Sunnydale high. Jareth can see the miffed expression on her face and knows that he was short with her… but it’s hard to convince himself to be contrite a second time, and so soon after the first time, he apologized, when he’s no closer yet to find a way out of this realm.

This isn’t where he belongs. Things are… strange here. The buildings are shaped oddly, the smells in the air unfamiliar. Cars pass by and Jareth - who’s only _heard_ of them through word of mouth - flinches every time and stares after them with uncertainty in his expression.

And there’s still that knot in his stomach. The one that thinks that maybe there will be no way to undo what’s been done and he’ll be trapped here, forever. Or at least until his father decides he’s ready to bring him home. It’s all… so unfair.

“Are we almost there?”

“Nope.”

Buffy pauses on the sidewalk and turns to gesture with a game-show hostess flourish at the building looming over them, blanketing them ina dark shadow despite the bright, sunny morning.

“Not almost. We are here. Welcome to Sunnydale...high school.”

Buffy flashes a small smile and turns to jog up the cement staircase to the open maw, er, doors of the school.

“C’mon. Let’s see if Giles is here.”

Jareth hesitates a moment before following after her, less “pep” in his step than in hers. The building is much smaller than his castle, yes… but it seems so large when he’s standing in front of it and completely unfamiliar.

There are other humans milling around. None of which take notice of Buffy rushing past, but Jareth can’t help but notice _them._ Strange creatures...so soft with rounded features and dim eyes. He draws into himself and follows a bit faster after Buffy, hoping that this…Giles is half the use that she says he could be.

“Is this man a sorcerer?”

***

“I’m not a bloody sorcerer!”

Rupert speaks sharply into the phone, the black cord stretched dangerously taut as he reaches for a book on the far side of the counter. He manages to nab it by the tips of his fingers and slides it close enough to pick up. The phone cord recoils into an unruly mess as Giles steps toward the receiver, flipping through the book until he finds what he’s looking for.

“The flyleaf clearly states that the copyright is 1985! How could there be information on the stock market crash of 2008 if the book was published more than… yes… no, I understand… well, I’m terribly sorry, but these are the resources the school board has allocated… yes… yes, you should run for the… right then. Thanks for calling.”

Rupert hangs up the phone with a slam, then picks up the receiver and slams _it_ down again for good measure.

“Bloody entitled parents without - oh!”

He jumps, startled to see Buffy standing across the counter from him… then starts again when he notices the young stranger beside her.

“Er, that’s… a… I rather… well… ah, good morning, Buffy. I didn’t expect to see you for another half-hour. And you, ah, brought a friend…”

Jareth’s mismatched gaze shifts first to Buffy’s face, and then back to that of the stranger's, unease making itself apparent. For the first time, in a very long time, Jareth really feels his age; understands what his father means when he says that Jareth isn’t yet old enough to fully grasp the gravity of the situations that he puts himself in and he’s never felt younger than he does, now, in this unfamiliar place, staring down a stammering stranger who might be his last hope of getting home.

He swallows hard against the lump in his throat. A pang of longing makes his stomach twist and he’s suddenly a faeling yearning for his mother, again. He has to take a deep breath before speaking, his expression schooled with the careful politeness of a well-trained Prince, but fear bright in his eyes nevertheless.

“Hello.”

He says, politely, because he can almost hear his parents warning him to mind his manners.

“I’m Jareth. How do you do?”

The words and clear and concise and he nods his head. He won’t bow - he knows he is of a higher position than his supposed saviour - but it’s only right to acknowledge whatever power this man may or may not have and he’s not sure how human customs have changed since he was last allowed to visit. He hopes they don’t still do the hand touching thing.

“Ah, very well, thank you…”

The unexpected formality pushes Giles out of his startled rut and back onto the track of well-practiced civility.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jareth. I’m Mr. Giles. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“We don’t need tea, Giles.” Buffy interrupts before the tea party can get started. “Jareth is a fairy. I found him last night when he was an owl, but now he’s a boy, and he needs to get home before he gets ironed to death. Got any ruby slipper or something helpful like that?”

“Ruby slippers?” Jareth repeats, eyebrows raising up to his hairline. The reference completely flies over his head and leaves him feeling slightly aggravated. “Now _really_ isn’t the time for a change in shoes. Red would clash, anyway…”

He’s completely miffed, but lacking in common fashion sense.

Then, he glances back at the supposed useful Sorcerer that Buffy had just snapped at and mends his priorities. Quickly.

“Erm, I mean… whatever you have to help is fine. Even if it comes in red. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

He straightens his posture and adds -

“Please.”

Giles blinks at the desperate and desperately polite plea, and realizes that regardless of Buffy’s garbled expository information, this Jareth chap was certainly not from Kansas… nor Oz.

“Oh, dear.”

Smiling what he hopes is to be a kindly smile, Giles takes Jareth’s shoulder and gently guides him into a chair.

“I’m afraid that a solution to your, er, situation won’t be as simple as finding the right pair of shoes... No matter how often Buffy wishes it were so. This conversation requires tea.”

With a nod, Giles plugs in the kettle.

Jareth’s heart sinks into his stomach like a stone and a lump rises into his throat at the look on Giles’ face. That’s the sort of sad smile that predates bad news… and Jareth’s already gon slightly rigged, not resisting being pushed into a chair, but not enjoying it either.

“I _am_ old enough to know that tea with conversation is a sure sign of bad news… sir.”

Jareth turns his attention to Buffy, a desperate look on his face. Can’t she do anything? She said that he could help, so why isn’t he being helpful yet?

“Well…”

Buffy sits down beside Jareth and shrugs, giving him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

“Sometimes tea is just tea, right? No need to take a Freudian sip.”

Giles’ face, when he returns with tree mugs, a box of tea bags, and the kettle, is not even approximating hopeful. Ge sets the tea things down and begins to pour.

“I’m afraid, despite the exceptionally erudite pun, Buffy, this is indeed ah, bad news tea. Jareth, I haven’t the slightest idea how to get you back to your realm. In fact, up until just now, I had no idea that faeries were real…”

Giles sits and thoughtfully dips his tea back into his mug.

“I have a few ideas on where to start researching…”

Several emotions flit across Jareth’s expression - surprise, upset, pain, horror, hopelessness, before he finally settles on anger and rounds on Buffy with eyes flashing and his voice strained. He feels a bit like he did that time he fell off of a dragon and landed on his stomach, unable to breathe and aching terribly everywhere.

“ _You_ said he could _help_. I’m going to die of iron poisoning and all I can do is drink boiled leaf water?”

“Giles _will_ help! It’s just gonna take him some time! And I don’t see you all bursting with great ideas, you know!”

Buffy crosses her arms and scowls.

“For someone in need of help, you’re being a pretty major jerk.”

“Children, that’s quite enough!”

Giles rises to his feet, just as the first bell rings.

“Buffy, you go to classes, as usual. Stop by at lunch for an update. Jareth, you are welcome to stay and drink your… boiled leaf water and help, or you may go to class with Buffy. I’ll start making some calls.”

Giles’ expression softens as he reads the fear beneath Jareth’s anger.

“We will find a way to get you home.”

Jareth looks a lot like he wants to retort at Buffy, but the scolding from the older human makes him curb his tongue.

For now.

He doesn’t want to stick around, though, so he turns to Buffy.

“Are they at least _interesting_ classes?

Better ask that than how sure Giles is that he'll find a solution. At least he can handle a “no” in this context.

Buffy grabs up her books with a huff of irritation.

“It’s HIGH SCHOOL. Of COURSE, they’re not interesting!”

She turns and starts stomping toward the door.

“Well, I’ve never _fucking_ been to high-school, so how would I know what they’re like?”

Jareth starts stomping after her.

“You could have just said no! I’m literally dying, here.”

“Oh, not YET you’re not…” Buffy grumbles, not really under her breath, as she storms off to class, Mr. Killjoy at her heels.


End file.
